Our Participation: The Levity Project

First let me explain where this idea comes from. It comes from Katie of THE LEVITY PROJECT.

Here is what her post said,

On November 7th, at 12:00 CT, will you laugh in a public place with us? Grab a friend, your iPOD, a good book and sit somewhere in a public place and laugh for 5 minutes. Just start by saying “Ha Ha Ha” or humming ha ha ha to yourself. Then keep getting louder and louder. I like to envision a bubble of laughter in my belly and chuckle quietly as I imagine it rising up in me through my chest, throat and out through my mouth. By the time it escapes my mouth, I let out a big laugh in celebration. Do this for 5 minutes (it will feel like a workout!).

That is all I am asking you to do. Go somewhere in public and laugh. And then, watch what happens around you. Sure, there will be the people that look at you oddly and like you may have a problem. But there will also be the people that look you in the eyes and start to smile. And even the few that start to laugh with you. After 5 minutes, notice how you feel. Do you feel a little lighter? Do you feel a like the outlook for the day is brighter? Enjoy making the ripple effect in the world around you.

Katie- The Levity Project

I thought this was a great idea and decided to take part. The more laughter the better. I recruited my daughter Sydney to laugh with me, trust me, she has the BEST laugh. Since this was decided last minute, my other recruits did not have the ability to join us. I’m sure they will want to have some WICKED fun with us next time.

I decided to go to The Parks Mall in Arlington. It’s probably the most crowded place I know. Jason opted to film the event. Thank goodness too! His height and steady hand was spectacular!

I have to admit, you feel a bit like a mad hatter, walking around laughing your head off. But it’s also very freeing. Just let go, laugh, and have a ball.

Without further ado, here is how it turned out.

Angelia: I think it turned out great! We had a lot of funny looks but some people smiled and waved.

Sydney: It was great seeing their faces. They couldn’t figure out what we were doing.

Angelia: I think my favorite part was knowing I was participating in an event going on at other parts of United States. We were all spreading laughter together.

Sydney: My favorite part was Santa waving and pointing – I mean smiling.

Angelia: I will definitely do it again. Maybe wear a smiley face shirt, hold a sign, or wear a silly hat. It was great fun!

Sydney: I’ll do it again, just to see everyone’s surprise. I wonder what we will come up with next, and if the cops will shut us down again. HA!

 

Carry laughter with you wherever you go. ~Hugh Sidey

Planting Seeds

I had the good ole black thumb growing up. I think my first plant my mom gave me to sacrifice was an african violet. The second plant my mom made walk the plank was a hanging spider plant. That one took a little longer to end its misery, but eventually I did.

Those two experiences told me and my avid gardener mother, I didn’t get the gene. As a grown up, I had plastic plants. A little dust never hurt anyone, that was until my second marriage. We moved to his mother’s house. She lived with her husband in a different house.

This residence may as well been the garden of Eden. There were so many flower beds, I felt sick to my stomach. A HUGE island with a pistachio tree, a back garden filled with day lilies, three other side gardens with irises, and lastly a large container bed under a newly built pergola.

It was enough to make a non-gardener want to cry. Luckily, here came my mother from Oklahoma to save me, to save the garden beds before I sent them off to meet their maker. She was patient with me, oh so very patient, and she showed me how to clean them out, divide the irises, and then PLANT new flowers.

She had all the confidence in the world of me. Lo and behold, they all grew. None died. The next year they multiplied. I even got brave and planted seeds myself, grew those in little pods and transferred them to my flower beds. To my delight, they grew too. I bought a trellis arch and had morning glories growing on each side and up. They bloomed every day, my little plants – I grew from seed.

Even the container under the pergola was filled with baby’s breath that spilled over in great glory. I had moon flowers, four o’clocks, rosemary, lavender, roses and sweet peas. It was an oasis. A surprise oasis. I was so proud.

When things fell apart, I had to leave my oasis. I left my effort, my hard work, and mostly my love – my beautiful garden.

When we moved into a new house, I did some gardening as well (nothing like before). Elephant ears, oleander, zinnia, mexican heather, and, again, had a gorgeous rose-bush. AGAIN, I had to leave it behind.

I’ve been in the new place two and half years. I have some container plants, but I never made garden beds. I didn’t see the point at a rental, I was sure to leave again.

I never had the strength or fortitude to start all over again. Until this year…..

I fell in love with Jason’s house and empty garden beds. My love was re-kindled. What a blessing it was to me. I toiled and planted with all the spirit I had before.

As winter approaches (well our winter anyway, which doesn’t count but still kills plants), I am remembering a spring of gardening, a summer of blooming.

I am remembering that in our world today, we are a lot like flowers. We are all different and unique. We grow at different rates. Some of us need more care than others. Some of us need protection from bugs and the world around us. Some of us are fragile and easily broken, but some of us are tough, long-lasting. Some of us will die and not return next year, but some will birth new shoots that grow taller and stronger than ever before. But mostly, we all just need love and care to thrive, and grow.

Jason’s gardens, 2009

Angel Begonia

Impatients and pink stain-glass coleus.

Cooper’s memorial stone, an angel statue that reminds me of Jason’s oldest daughter, more impatients.

My pride and joy – the moonflower. They only bloom at night.

Amazing in the moonlight.

The front bed. Calidiums and impatients.

We each have our own beauty to display. Our beauty may not be pleasing to everyone, but to some it will take their breath away.

Revel in your beauty today, shine through winter, bask in your moments before they are gone.

A flower’s appeal is in its contradictions – so delicate in form yet strong in fragrance, so small in size yet big in beauty, so short in life yet long on effect. ~Adabella Radici

Hope you enjoyed your garden walk as much as I did, live with long lasting effect.

Happy Friday!!

P.S. (I’m feeling like a fourth grader typing that) – I updated my photos on the About Me tab. New for November with some of my favorite photos.

Confession Wednesday!

Okay, this comes from a fellow blogger KAREN . A featured SITS girl today.

Love the idea, so I am posting my confession, errr one of them anyway! Feel free to add to your blog and join us.

The first thing that comes to mind as a confession is my daughter. My daughter can not ride a bike. I didn’t teach her. That’s on me, yes?  That’s what I thought.

Actually, she will tell you she KNOWS HOW to ride a bike. You know, the inner workings and concept of it, but she just CAN’T. Got all that? Here is how the conversation goes.

Sydney: I know HOW to ride a bike, I just can’t.

Me:(???????) No, sweetie if you CAN’T ride a bike, then you don’t know how.

Sydney: MOM! I know HOW to ride a bike. I know what to do. I just can’t.

Me:(????????????????????) Noooooooo, if you CAN’T, then you don’t know HOW. If you knew HOW, then you COULD. (Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!)

*This could go on for hours, you get the idea*

Yesterday, I took her to get her permit at the DMV. She has to pass an exam of driving questions, and she DID. She made an 84, she passed. Let’s not confuse my little text message to Jason. 84 she passed, which made him unsure of who passed and where the funeral was. Ahem. No, SHE passed, Sydney passed. She knows HOW to drive. DMV said so, they gave her a driving permit.

Mkay?

We leave the DMV and she is all smiles, how about letting me DRIVE YOU. Uhh, heck NO! But nice try. A small argument ensued.

Sydney: How am I supposed to learn how to drive if YOU won’t let me?

Me: That’s what the driver’s ed car is for!

Sydney: Mom! You are supposed to TEACH me, the parent, that’s what the drivers ed teacher said.

Me: (Whaaaaaaat??) Uhhh, NO that guy is crazy! Didn’t you say he only teaches to pay for his Harley. (OMG!)

(Sometime later) Sydney talks me into letting her drive my car around in a parking lot. Harmless right? It’s just a parking lot, no moving cars, the business was closed. Easy.

Let me just say, she knows HOW, but Lordy! She can’t. I have never been so scared in my life and we were in a completely EMPTY parking lot. An empty parking lot with a BIG light pole encased in a round concrete barrier, two small medians at each end, curbs outlining the lot, and let’s not forget the building home to this lot. (YIKES!)

Despite my desperate pleas of SLOWLY, SOFTLY, EASE IT! It was PUNCH, JAM, and BRAKE suddenly. Somehow the wheel wouldn’t turn. Uhhh, Actually you have to physically move the wheel, TURN IT! TURN IT! TURN IT! Use your muscle, because softly rotating it from side to side does NOT make the car turn, it will only drive you from a parking spot into the median it’s parked next to. (Ahhh!)

I’ll give her some credit. She did finally manage to make a turn around the median without hitting anything. ONCE. Just as I was starting to relax (she’s getting it), she drove straight into the curb (again!).

I have a confession, not only did I not teach my daughter HOW to ride a bike. I have a feeling I WON’T be teaching her HOW to drive a car. Not with my nerves intact, my sanity, and let’s not forget any bodily harm.

A day in the Park, A day in the Life

I realize it’s NaNoWriMo time. I should be building on my measly 1,610 words, I wrote on day one which was still short by fifty-seven words of the daily goal. Sigh. I should be writing to make up for that and taking advantage of my day off to jump ahead of the pack. (all of my writing buddies have more words than me – including my daughter) But I have come to realize, that sometimes, I don’t have a say in what I want to write or should write. Sometimes my heart is in my fingers, my soul urges me to tell the story, and all I can do is follow that lead.

My lead was encouraged by Pastor David Daniels’ revisit to the Down and Out series at Pantego Bible Church from last February. He actually rode with a Police Officer in charge of doing a homeless count for 2009. He met and heard many of the stories of homeless people. There were several videos made. Their stories got to the gut of it. The disadvantaged, the substance abusers, and the ones that rise above it all – against all odds – to have a home after all.

It is truly a heart wrenching story of LOVE MERCY. Their strength, and daily perseverance brings me to tears. I realize it’s something some of us do not understand, and something some of us understand all too well. Whichever side of the fence you are on, you can’t help but be moved.

A lot of people wonder why they don’t just get I.D’s., get jobs, use government help – which most of them do. What they don’t realize is, if you don’t have a SSN number or birth certificate – there is NO getting an I.D. None period. If you don’t have an I.D. you can’t get a job. And contrary to popular belief, most of these people do not WANT help. They WANT to live on their own, survive on their own, and make it on their own. They have pride just like you and I. There is no difference, they are human beings made in God’s image. What makes them different is their circumstance.

A circumstance that could happen to you or to me. I was this close to falling into an endless, irreversible cycle of drug addiction. One of the worst ones – METH. This didn’t happen when I was too young to know any better. This happened as an adult in my early thirties. It pains me to think how close I was to losing everything and being on the street. It’s painful to admit, even today, but it’s true. It’s part of my past, it’s part of who I am, and why I am.

I have compassion for them. I have a glimpse of their world. I know how easily it can unravel. And I’m not saying I know, that’s not what I’m saying at all. My period was a year, year and half, theirs are decades. I don’t know anything. It’s hard, harder than imaginable.

Sunday, a friend from Facebook and Christian Mingle came to Texas to visit her daughter and new baby grandson. In July when he was born, she had planned to visit me and the Church, but unexpectedly had to return to Florida. She promised to return and visit one day again.

That day happened to be this Sunday. She called and I gave her directions to the Church to meet her in the lobby. It was a wonderful connection. She is as dear and genuine in person as she has been online. She is a very heartfelt, and beautiful. Her daughter and grandson were absolutely precious. What a gift it was to meet them, embrace them, and cuddle that precious baby boy. It was the highlight of my day.

Pastor Daniels summarized the Down and Out series, highlighting the specific messages. The true stories of the Down and Out brings tears, heartache, and tremendous hope. Hope for a new understanding, for an awakened passion, and for my friend because her other daughter is homeless, and under the oppression of substance abuse.

I can’t imagine. I can’t imagine the pain of that. What stood out the most was Pastor Daniels saying, for some, you can’t help them. You can be there for them. You can love them, but they are on their own journey with God.

It brought her great comfort to hear this. It brought her peace where their wasn’t any before. It was a message she so desperately needed to hear. A message of LOVE MERCY to a mother who traveled over 1,000 miles to hear it.

My visit of LOVE MERCY happened a few short weeks ago. I was invited by a friend to be part of Feed by Grace ministry, which is a division of Unity Park near downtown Fort Worth.

Unity Park is a fenced in area, with trees, picnic tables, and the above pictured basket ball court. The homeless can come to relax, be entertained, have coffee or Gatorade during certain operating hours. There is a small one room concrete building that houses an even smaller kitchen and bathroom. This is where I gathered with many volunteers for a women’s spa day. A very special engagement.

This event was by invitation only. The director had selected twenty-five deserving women that needed some pampering. Not that they aren’t ALL deserving, they are, but there were only so many spots.

I volunteered to work the nail station. Heck, I LOVE a manicure. It’s nice to be spoiled. To give that to these ladies was sure to be a blessing. Most of them had never had a manicure before. Other volunteers arranged the lunch, and drinks. Also, a paraffin hand waxing station was designated. Three teenage boys arrived to be waiters. They were dressed sharply in nice shirts, ties, and slack – complete with a white towel over their arm.

These ladies were not just being given lunch. They were being offered the royal treatment. An afternoon of sheer pleasure and escape from all their worries. This was the similar to an Academy Award event. White table cloths, center pieces, waiters, and gratification awaited them.

The first woman’s hands, I took in mine was named Beverly. I couldn’t begin to guess her age but she told me she had three children in their forties that lived in Tulsa. I would have pegged her about sixty-five. She was a small woman, mostly skin and bones, but there nothing frail about her. She was tough. She was strong, wise, and determined.

She told me her story as I caressed her weathered hands. Her pride beamed as she described her grown children. Her brow furrowed as she detailed beating breast cancer, becoming a survivor, and to find out the cancer had returned. She was in crisis once again with her head held high. She said she was going to get an apartment. She was going to get on her feet, but would not undergo chemo again. If this was her time, well then, she was ready.

I buffed a black spot on her nail, where she said a door had shut on her finger, as the black lifted away, she watched the stain disappear, her pleasure radiated. I smoothed the ridges, soaked the cuticle, trimmed, and polished her fingertips. She smiled when we finished, her nails had never been treated so well before. One last squeeze and she went back to the tables covered in cloth to await lunch. Her courage in the face of her situation astounded me, humbled me even.

Three more times, I talked, treated and tried to offer these homeless women a shred of love. The only kind I could offer, my service. Every one of them was sweet and grateful. They felt like princesses. After the nail station, two more volunteers were offering hand massages. Then they could move on to the hand waxing.

At first, some of the women thought hand waxing was the plucking of hair. We advised them it was actually much more pleasurable, some were brave enough to try it. I helped peel the wax from their hands. The exclaimed in glee as they felt their hands transformed to silk. The first thing they would do was touch their face, rubbing their soft hands on their skin, eyes closing in enjoyment. Such a small thing, yet so indulging, and so beautiful to behold.

Lunch was served by the handsome young boys. The women thought they looked like soap stars. They were star struck as they bashfully accepted a plate of food, a glass of tea, and a dessert. Giggling like school girls and shying their eyes away. It was sweet.

As the luncheon came to an end, a woman behind me stood up. In front of twenty-five women and ten volunteers she told her story of being homeless, losing her children due to drug abuse, getting herself rehabilitated, getting her kids back and learning to live and work again. Then she sang from her heart, a lullaby, written by her mother when she was a small child.

The room was silent as her voice lifted and carried, all the pain, the heartbreak, and the sheer will for a better life, lifted and touched every soul. When she finished, thunderous clapping erupted, tears were wiped away. She bared herself for all to see, in order for other women to have strength. She told her story for them to rise up and be champions. What an impact.

They were pampered for now, but back to the street they would go. To sell their bodies, or to miss their babies, or to look for shelter, or a bath, to an abusive husband or mate, and even to that addiction if they have one. Maybe this ounce of compassion could sustain them for a brief while.

Before the luncheon closed, Feed by Grace director had one more surprise for the ladies. She brought out hand knit hats and scarves, all unique, all made with a hue of brilliant color. Knitted by a group of women that pray over each thread. Women who selflessly offer their talent for a strangers warmth and comfort.

The ladies were told the hats and scarves were prayed over as a covering for them this winter. Hence the hat to cover their head and the scarves to wrap around them. A covering of protection from the cold. A covering of love and prayer. They also handed out purses filled with kits of useful things for a street person. Items we would trash, they treasure.

Lastly was the prayer locket. A silver chain hugging a heart that opens, inside you can put prayers, close the locket and wear it on your chest. Faith, love, and mercy – they can hold in their hand. Something beautiful to fill their every aspiration.

My beautiful friend Beverly as she saw her heart locket.

As they departed, I hugged every neck I could. I tried to touch them as they had touched me. I held them tightly and prayed for strength and energy and heart to go forth with them. The woman that sang her song, I told her keep singing and keep telling her story. It would change lives, just keep shining.

Some people might say what a blessing I AM. To those people, I would say – the blessing was ALL MINE. I will never forget that day, not one second. I look forward to future outings with the down and out. I hope to continue in this mission as much as I can.

You might think, WOW , I wish I was like you. But listen, I am an ordinary person. A single mom with little resource. My only resource I can give is my heart, my time, and my service. If you knit, look for those opportunities, blankets, scarves, and hats. If you can serve, find those places that need a hand. They are all AROUND you. Ask God to open your eyes to them. You will be amazed and blessed beyond measure.

Lastly, seek your compassion every day. Don’t shy away from what you don’t understand. Open your heart and receive. It will uplift your life.

1 Timothy 6:18 (Contemporary English Version)

18 Instruct them to do as many good deeds as they can and to help everyone. Remind the rich to be generous and share what they have

Sunday Healthy Reflection

Sleep is a generous thief; he gives to vigor what he takes from time.

- Elizabeth, Queen of Romania

Is lack of sleep robbing you of your goals?

If you surveyed the millions of us who don’t get much sleep, chances are they’ll say that the #1 reason they don’t is “lack of time.” In other words, people have too much to do to sleep. Late hours and frantic mornings are the rule. Who has time for more sleep? What this tired group doesn’t realize is that a sleep debt is probably keeping them from acting and thinking at full strength, making even the easiest tasks harder to do. And take longer. Believe it or not, you can probably get more done in your day by getting more sleep. The mental and physical pick-up more than make up for that extra hour or two in bed.

Brought to you by SPARKPEOPLE

——————————————————————————-

Oh boy, does this strike a chord with me or what? I can’t remember when I decided going to bed at midnight and waking up at six am was a good idea, and totally enough sleep. I think it was somewhere around November 2007, when my step dad, so generously gave me a laptop as an early Christmas gift.

Yeah, I think that was it. Suddenly, the world of no cable, no internet from the previous seven months, was greatly widened. The beckoning beam of the computer screen sucked me in, I haven’t been able to shut it off since.

That’s my excuse anyway, “It’s a gift. What? Am I not supposed to use it? Phsss.”

Once the obsession newness wore off, I had met Jason by then. My new time killer was him. With work, kids, and living apart – we squeeze in time when we can. That means driving home 11-12 at night after watching TV and catching up on Survivor, Flash Forward, and Grey’s Anatomy.

If that wasn’t enough, THEN, I got an iPhone. The newness obsession was mind boggling. Please don’t ask Jason about it. It is embarrassing how much I love my iPhone, I think he is a little jealous.

Despite all that, if I am too look at my health, I have to admit. I could use more sleep. I could turn off the Look! Something shiny! call of the computers and get some more shut-eye. It is easier said than done.

I don’t have a problem sleeping either. That is not it. I sleep very soundly. I go to sleep instantly. You’re jealous right? Pssst. Melatonin. Works wonders, alleviates stress. It’s been a lifesaver for me – I hate laying awake at night – now I never do. Enlyten has dissolvable strips, works instantly. Instantly. Heaven. Simply Heaven.

I guess what it boils down to, I need to slow down for my health. I don’t feel lacking but, possibly, I could perform better. This reflection resonates in my life. I hope it did yours too.

*I pre-blogged this Saturday, so I could sleep in this morning AND it was time change night. Cha-ching! Extra, extra sleep. I feel like I could jump from rooftop to rooftop singing and I haven’t even have coffee yet. Yahoo!*

Sydney’s Trick, not Treat

Long ago and far away – well not so far away – we lived in Benbrook. This was WEST of the metroplex, way West, about an hour from Dallas, half hour Southwest of Fort Worth. Our apartment had a front door and a back door. The back door led down a flight of stairs taking you to the border of undeveloped land, acres upon acres, as far as you could see.

It was heaven for a country girl like me. No concrete, no buildings, just trees and fields. We even had a flock of wild turkeys that would visit us, passing by, every so often. You could watch them from the balcony.  I loved this apartment. I wasn’t scared at all. It was awesome!

I had a little Yorkie, named Chloe, that I would take out every morning. I would go down the back stairs and walk her along the tree line. Walking farther away, there was a meadow that opened up behind the other apartment buildings.

Normally, I didn’t run into anyone. It was peaceful. Chloe loved it. I’d come in refreshed, ready to get Sydney to take her to daycare or school. She was 5 years old, in kindergarten.

Sydney a very sweet, gregarious child. Almost always sparkling with laughter, full of life. *my miracle*

I am not sure how her little five year old brain planned this scenario out, but she HID behind the wall of the dining room, right next to the back door. As Mommy came up the steps, opened the door, and let Chloe in…..OUT JUMPS SYDNEY-RAAAWWRRR…..and scared me to DEATH.

Elizabeth, Elizabeth, I’m coming Elizabeth!

I was so not expecting that. Of course, she thought it was hilarious! I don’t think I ever closed an eye to her possible antics again, which means she has got me many times since. I blame her Dad! *Sonny, it’s your trickster genes, they come from your Muda!*

On Halloween, my hats off to you Sydney. Your first Halloween? A sweet little lamb – Treat. To the “grown” version, at five, that decides to scare the beegeebers out of Mama – Trick. And all the princess Halloweens to dead zombie cheerleader ones later, I remember them all fondly. What a time we had.

They grow up so fast, hang on to these times, the tricks and the treats.

Blog 4 Cause

I have an important post that needs your attention.

In honor of October breast cancer awareness month, a group of bloggers have contributed to an e-book. This e-book is free to receive, however a donation is greatly appreciated.

This e-book was labored over with great love and care by Lance JUNGLE OF LIFE and by Joanna FITNESS AND SPICE.

What an honor to be able to contribute a favorite post to this cause, and be featured in this e-book. I can’t remember how I met Lance but his contagious optimism and exuberant outlook on life is very dear and meaningful to me.

In my very short blogging career, I have encountered so much opportunity to explore, learn, be and now give to LIFE itself. It just doesn’t get any better than this!

Please honor their hard work for this cause. Click on the link to visit BLOG 4 CAUSE. It will take you to the SUSAN G. KOMEN BLOG-4-CAUSE.

You can donate there, or just find out how to get the e-book. Over 150 amazing blog posts are featured, many are blogs  I personally read, that uplift and inspire me every day, not to mention make me laugh, think and most importantly DO.

Do this today, you won’t regret it. And please spread the word and pass these links along.

Humbly, I thank you.

My Paranormal Experience

Well, it’s that time of year again……HALLOWEEN……where all the ghosts and goblins come out! SCARY!

Run and hide, if you will, I am about to divulge my paranormal experience. Sister, please don’t read this post, I can’t be responsible for you not facing the dark ever again, mkay?*

First, I have to tell you – I don’t think all physics are full of baloney – Why? Because I do believe there is an energy between people.

For instance, driving down the freeway, I often “sense” a car is about to change lanes – into MY lane. I speed up or slow down and sure enough they get over. *I was right*

I can tell you are still unbelieving, okay. One night this summer, I awake from a DEAD sleep. I don’t mean, I slowly wake up, uhhh, what’s-going-on kinda thing? I mean UPRIGHT in bed, eyes wide open, What the heck? It was 417AM. I looked at the clock on the phone, like I always do when I wake up out of dead sleep (more on that later). I saw some flashes of lightning. I went back to sleep.

Come to find out, later in the day, Jason tells me his X called him at 417AM that morning because her weather alarm went off. He had the girls and she was worried about tornadoes and stuff. It was exactly the same time. We even checked his phone to verify it was exactly – down to the minute.

Or even this last week, Sydney and I were trying to decide where to go eat. It came down between two places. Neither of us could make a decision, I thought SURELY there is coin flip application for iPhone. HA. There was, I downloaded it, we flipped the coin and found our direction. The next day…..Jason had downloaded the same app, the SAME day.

You understand what I’m saying, there is some “energy” or something. How else can such coincidental things happen, over and over? And I could go on and on, but I won’t – not on that anyway.

My paranormal experience (not the only one but ONE of the ones) happened summer of 2008. I lived with Uncle Bub, and my ex-mother-in-law Susie, in a very small house in central Arlington, an OLD house. The bathroom was ONE person, standing room only. My bedroom had a blow up mattress which took up all the space. Not much maneuvering room at all, anywhere.

One night, my alarm went off, desktop one with glowing red letters. It was somewhere around three am. NO, I did not set it to go off at three in the morning. No way, no how, but it did go off. I silenced it, checked it, and couldn’t find anything wrong with it. I had turned on the lights and everything, nada. I went back to sleep.

This began to happen NIGHTLY. No, I wasn’t dreaming. I actually got a kick out of it (at first). Grandma died in this house. She was a jokester. I bet she is just having fun with me. The alarm would go off in the middle of the night, I would turn it off and say to the pitch black, “Very funny, Grandma”. I would go back to sleep.

That was until, I found out the guy that lived in the house before? Shot and killed himself in that one person bathroom. Yeah. That’s what I said. After that, I wondered….who WAS haunting me? And why? It was no longer funny. It was downright terrifying. *They say there are no ghosts only demons, shudder *

That night my alarm went off at three in the morning (as usual), this time when I turned it off – I won’t lie – I wanted to whimper. The room was freezing cold. Not just the A/C is on, it was, but I mean bone chilling FREEZING cold. Also, I had *unplugged* the alarm in the wall. The alarm going off – was my cell phone alarm – that I didn’t set for three am. *Did he DIE at three am?*

I began losing important things. The biggest one, my glasses which disappeared off the nightstand. I found them MONTHS later under the rug – in the middle of the rug – in the doorway to my bedroom. Alarms continued to go off, whether I set them or not.  Sometimes, the room was a meat locker in the wee hours of the night.  Salem never growled, so I hoped, whatever this “energy” was, it was harmless.

I’ll admit, I was pretty darn happy to get out of there, six hellish months later. When I moved out, the first night in my new house, my cell phone alarm went off – around three am.

To this day, it’s never happened again………………..

Happy Halloween!

A place called Hawk Tower

In the distance, on a hill, high above neighborhoods, and trees stands a majestic electrical tower. What makes this electrical tower so majestic? Not just the greatness of it’s size but the number of Hawks that reside there. Hawk upon Hawk call this place home or perch.  Their gaze pierces through the land as they hunt, as they survive.

She can see it from where she stands. The tower is taller than imaginable. It’s distance seems great but not so far as being unreachable. She watches the hawks soar and land, soar and land. Their glides like music, as they fade in and out. She wonders what life is like on Hawk Tower. Is it better than hers? Her constant turmoil of her marriage? Her limitations as a mother? The blackness inside that threatens to consume her. What if Hawk Tower could take her away? What if she could become like a Hawk and rise above the desperateness of her days. Is Hawk Tower her hope? She has to hope so, because there is nothing else left.

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Guess what? I’ve signed up for the challenge.  November novel writing month. NaNoWriMo. I just started writing, this blog, a brief four months ago. I haven’t wrote a “story” in about 23 years. The synopsis above is ALL I have so far, until November 1st. I am scared, but I also believe this will be very good for me – the experience, and the exercise.

Even better than that? My fifteen year old daughter Sydney is joining me. She will be writing her novel as well (which will be a thriller and scary as all get out – trust me). If you can handle that, you should look her up. Her stories are very catching and spooky, I can’t wait to see how she does with this challenge.

I hope with our competing household, we will finish the 50,000 words (each). If you are joining this madness, please look me up – angeliasims – especially if you participated before. I haven’t quite figured out how to navigate the site yet. I could use all the help I can get.

Happy Writing!!

And a *big* THANK YOU to wordpress for putting my post, Arrivederci, Italiano! on the main wordpress page, what an honor!*

Arrivederci, Italiano!

Penultimate Italiano la sera. *Thank you, Jason for my word of the day, that I USED in a sentence. See ——–> used in a sentence*

Penultimate – next to last class.

I had my penultimate Italian conversation class last night. It was bittersweet. What a wonderful adventure the last six weeks has been, I’d love to tell you all about it. I promise to speak mostly inglese. *deal with it spell checker* Sorry ENGLISH. Ahem.

Io amore Italia. I LOVE ITALY. If I didn’t know before, maybe I wasn’t sure, or maybe I was too scared to commit. Well, I am out of the closet now. I absolutely LOVE this country, this culture, this language. I sit in class, soaking it up. It settles into my bones. It tells me – I belong here – I am your heritage and where you originated from.

Il nonno – my grandfather – was raised in Italy. He grew up in Northern part. He came to the United States a young man. He married a French woman named Dorotha. They had my mom. Growing up I proudly pronounced, I am a quarter French and a quarter Italian. Named after my Uncle Angel. My Italian heritage is my birthright. It means everything to me. *my looks favor the French side*

My Papa Jimmy passed away when I was 16 yrs old. I have said – all my life – he is my guardian Angel. How do I know this? Well, during my party days, there were several many mornings when I woke up after drinking heavily and had no idea, how I drove from town to my mom’s house (8 miles away). No idea. Except that he was with me. He guided me safely home.

When I attempted my first garden, with my mom’s help, I had a variety of beautiful flowers. I had all kinds. The next spring what came up abundantly, Zinnias, which happen to be my Papa’s favorite flower. He used to throw Zinnia seeds all over his garden and they would come up everywhere. That is what happened to me, without planting a single one, they came up everywhere, all different colors. They grew as tall as my chest. It was incredible!

And now, as I finish six weeks of classes, two times a week, two hours at a session. It sinks in. My Papa. My Papa got me in Italiano. His heritage put in the desiderare. He is beaming and calling me to Italy. I yearn to go.

My favorite part of the class? The videos of Italy. The different cities, landscapes, history – oh my gosh, the history -  I was never interested in history until this class. The richness of this country is breathtaking. With it’s astounding contrasts, a Roman Empire that changed the world, crescent-shaped coastal cities, tarnished splendor filled with art.  Art and majesty that distinguish this country from many others. I am beyond impressed.

I took Italian because I was interested in where my Papa came from, because I wanted to know about our families culture. I ended up with more than I ever thought possible. A place in my heart filled by the love I have for this country. Did I learn to speak fluent Italian? HA. No. I could get by. My instructor was wonderful. He was native Italian, cute as a button, with an adorable accent. He had us doing a lot of Italian two conversations. He earnestly wanted us to learn as much as we could. Many of the students were actually going to Italy this spring. *GOING to Italy, whimper*

Alas, as much as I love all things Italia, I am NOT crazy about taking classes and studying. Blech. I knew there was a reason I didn’t go to college. *I applaud all of you that do it. You have my utmost respect, utmost*

I hope to take Italian two this Spring. I just need a class break, a looooong fall break, if you will. In the meantime, I will continue to study my book. I will keep trying to make my tongue say the words right. In my head and in my ear I understand, but when I speak out loud, it’s all wrong. *practice, practice*

Possibly, I will convince my mom she NEEDS to take me to Italy with her. I already know everything I need to travel with her.

“Quanto costa?” How much is it?

“Dov’e il bagno?” Where is the bathroom?

“Vorrei spaghetti.” I would like spaghetti. (oh wait, that’s for me, whoops)

Good-bye Italian! It was so nice to meet you, know you, revere you. I can’t wait to see you again. Piacere! Molto lieto!

Fall Italiano class 2009

Driving tips with Sydney

My daughter Sydney, 15, is in Drivers Ed class after school, about a week and half now. Unfortunately, she already knows more about driving than I do. AND,  she really likes to “test”  me for a good time. Fun, right?

*These are the conversations that take place.*

Syd: Mom, I got my Texas Driving Handbook today.

Me: Oh Yah, cool! (opens up flipping through, frowning – it’s kinda got a lot of pages) Hey!! Here is something on highway hypnosis! I always wondered why I got so sleepy on the highway. Says here,  the hum of the tires on the road can put you to sleep. I knew it! I knew I wasn’t just old.

Syd: (takes the book, finds a page, smirking) Mom, Do you know what sign is a Pentagon shape?

Me: Huh? Pentagon, what in the world? I never heard of such a thing.  Pentagon, hmmm, gotta have a bunch a sides, maybe a stop sign?

Syd: MOM!!! Stop sign is an OCTAGON. It’s a school crossing sign. ( laughs hysterically)

Me: (shrugging) HA, Okay. I never noticed that before, like ever. (Whatever! GEE!)

Syd: What signs are in white?

Me: White? (White like snow)  Um, I don’t remember any signs in white. (What the heck?) White signs…white signs….I give up. What are white signs? *All I can think of is green road signs/street signs*

Syd: MOM,  SPEED LIMIT signs. White means information. Duuuuhhhhh! (snorts from laughing so hard)

Me: DOH!!! (Smacks forehead) I knew that.

Syd: (Smiling) What about brown signs?  What information is on those, huh?

Me: (okay, now she is just showing off) Brown? You know I’m kinda color blind right? I don’t remember any brown signs. I bet brown is hard to see at night.

Syd:  MOM!! Historical marker signs.

Me: Oh yeah!! Those are good, they tell history,  and stuff. Totally forgot about that.

Syd: How far  from a corner are you supposed to park?

Me: (HA! She told me this one the other night going to Sonic) 15 FEET!  HA!! *I have no idea how far that is by the way*

Syd: Yeah ,  Well how far away is an oncoming car when you should dim your bright lights?

Me: 15 feet?

Syd: No.

Me: 50 feet?

Syd: No.

Me: 500 feet?

Syd: Yes. (rolls eyes)

Me: (shakes fist in the air) HA! YES! In your face!! (can’t believe I got that on the third guess)

That’s all for today folks, stay tuned for the next episode of Driving tips with Sydney. It will be another embarrassing time lesson learned, plus I will tell you all about how Jason FAILED his first driving test. Gasp!!! You don’t want to miss it.

And remember, pay attention to the colors and shapes of those road signs! There will be a test later.

Today is proof..

I have down days. REALLY down days, and I have no idea why.

Usually, I am very happy, in fact, almost always happy. Every so often out of the blue, this hits me.

Often times it follows great joy – like what comes up, must come down.

Last time this happened, it was year after my step dad had been gone. Before that, it was a year after my divorce from #2.

Normally, it lasts a week at the most, sometimes only a few hours if people pray for me. I should be grateful, it’s THAT short.

I don’t understand this at all. It makes me wonder if it’s chemical. I can’t imagine life this way, like some people do.

I know how blessed I am. I know how loved I am. I know what I’ve overcome in my life.

So what do you do, when you feel the hounds of depression chasing you down? What do you do, when YOU KNOW what makes you happy but that source is tapped out today? What do you do when you need the sun more than anything and it’s only rolling black clouds, as far as you can see?

Sunday’s Healthy Reflection

Life is not a ‘brief candle.’ It is a splendid torch that must be made to burn as brightly as possible before it is handed on to the next generation.

- George Bernard Shaw, Irish critic and playwright

How Can You Share Your Spark with Others?

Light is meant to be shared. If you try to hoard it or keep it covered, out of everyone’s sight, you’ll just end up smothering it. Try to close it in your fist so it doesn’t get away, and it burns you. You can’t possess light. All you can do is appreciate it, use it and help others use it, too. In the same way, your life is also meant to be shared. Many people look upon their lives as something that must be jealously protected and stowed away. They block out others and are afraid to share their time. What happens? Their spark suffocates. But there are others who have an abundance mentality. They believe, correctly so, that there’s plenty of life to go around, that all flames get brighter when we share them. They know that when we invest energy in others, we get even more in return. Don’t sacrifice your chance at a bonfire because you’re too busy trying to keep a tiny match from going out.

Healthy reflection brought to you by SPARKPEOPLE

Originally when I started this blog, I was an out of control forest fire – jumping from here to there – threatening houses. Angry with no direction but to consume. Then a funny thing happened, I saw torches all around me. Torches lit to share life and lessons. Torches showing truth, greatness, and a better way of dealing with anger. Torches leading to a bonfire.

A bonfire where everyone could dip their torch in for flame, or they could stand and appreciate the glow as it got brighter. The greater the number the bigger the light. The bigger the light, the better the stories – to learn, to grow, to be, to share.

This week, I have realized my sly jabs, in my blog, here and there were directed intentionally at someone I was angry with. That was my issue, not theirs. It only hurt me. Instead of getting revenge, I hoarded bitterness. In the midst, I got a new insight. I found a place where everyone is navigating life, passing their torches, offering a brighter place to be.

My spirit is renewed. My part is to always shine – brighter, stronger, and smarter. I may not be perfect. I may not always get it right. I may stumble, snuff out my flame, and have to start again. But I will try. I will try to lift my torch higher, to light your path, or to combine it with yours in a brilliant hue – so bright – we have to squint our eyes to see through it.

Don’t let your flame go out. Don’t get burned like I did. Share your light. Share your hope. Share your story. It could be exactly what someone needs to find their direction. Invest your energy, and be invested in return, abundantly.

Walk for Cure JDRF 2009

Approximately 4,000 walkers showed up in Fort Worth, Texas today. All with one thing on their mind, to WALK for a cure. To cure someone they are close to, who lives with diabetes. For a lot them, this was a child. For others like me, it was an adult they loved dearly.

I was really moved by the entire families at the event. Brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles, moms, dads, and even grandparents donned the same “team” shirt and walked for a cure. Truly humbling.

Team Hardy consisted of Jason’s mom, his two girls, their two cousins and me. We pulled a red wagon loaned to us by Jason’s X. In my eyes, this was her contribution – it did not go unnoticed. NONE of the contributions went unnoticed. Every gift was received, gratefully and incredibly. I was moved to tears, many times this week with the outpouring of love from many. Some from close friends and family (our mothers) and some distance friends, who I have never met. EVERY ONE was a heartfelt desire to see progress for a cure.

That is how it was today at the walk. So much heart, so much grit, determination and NEED powered this 5K walk. Most importantly it wasn’t with sadness but with great joy and hope, families and companies WALKED together.

Start of the walk. Beautiful day.

I am going to tell you, it is quite the challenge (for me anyway) to walk with four very small children and one two-seater wagon. 3.1 miles. Either I was carrying a child or pulling two. I have ran many 5K’s, my goal is always to get to the end as fast as possible. Not so today, it was to GET to the end. We lost ALL the balloons. We had a pile of jackets and TONS of water bottles. We avoided several mud pits and had no misses, nor falls. Several places in walk you could see the finish line with all the tents set up, I wanted to just grab up the kids and head that way (why make the poor things walk all those miles). I didn’t though. I wanted them to know, standing up for what you believe in – means something, even if it’s hard. So, we walked, we played, we skipped and we sang – all for a cure – with big smiles all around.

It was a GREAT success. The finish line had food, bounce houses, and many other activities (and bees – a LOT of bees). We played for a while. I loved the girls trek on the big bounce slide. Jason’s youngest could barely climb the big ladder up to the top (while it’s bouncing) but she did it. I got lots of pictures. I was very proud of her and for her.

I was really impressed at how well everyone did walking THREE miles. Jason’s blood sugar was even high the whole time (how appropriate). We had to leave right near the end because the two cousins had a school carnival to attend (we did that too). By dinner tonight, everyone was exhausted. What a GREAT day.

I will definitely remember today. It was an honor and a privilege. If you are a facebook friend, please see my Thank you note to our supporters.

It’s Time to Drive

Alright, there comes a time in your life, when you can no longer hide the fact that you’re getting stinkin’ old. This week is my time. Why? Well, because my lovely daughter started driver’s ed.

Oh boy……yes, I have a child old enough to be taking driver’s ed. Yes, they actually teach it in school like when I was growing up. Plus, this year in the metroplex, they passed a law saying all new drivers now have to take an actual driving test with a Trooper (just like I DID). This kid is really going to have to learn to drive. And believe you me – I wasn’t teaching her. I am terrible driver. I’ll admit that right now. I misjudge distances. I can’t see out of the blind spot. I can’t really see period. I go slow. I go fast. I turn too sharp. I hit EVERY curb.

Yeah, me teaching a kid to drive? Bad idea! So, she’s been in class for what? Three days? Last night, we are driving to Sonic, she is pointing out all these driving tips. I’m thinking, whoa, she knows more than ME. I kept saying, “REALLY? That’s who has the right away? I had no idea. Seriously? You can’t park that way? Wow, that’s a good tip. That’d be real, uhh, helpful. Hmm.”

How embarrassing. Maybe, she will teach me how to drive, ahem.

Do you want to know why I can’t drive? Well, it all started when I was twelve years old. I have two brothers, both older. The oldest would have been 15, the younger one 13, and neither could drive. My mom had gone out-of-town, or to town, or something. They wanted to go to their friend JB’s house about two miles up the country road. Meaning, it was a gravel road paved with tar up til about a mile farther than it’s just sandy dirt and big pieces of gravel. They did not want to walk, and being the conspirators they were, they came up with a brilliant plan.

Mom had left the keys to her van. It was a big sucker. The OLD vans, ya know the conversion ones, with the raised top, huge captain chairs, and about ten hundred feet off the ground. Their brilliant plan? To drive the van to their friend’s house. But wait a sec, see – they had to get it back so Mom wouldn’t know and guess who they blackmailed elected – Little Arthur (hush, it was my nickname). Problem was, little Arthur did not know how to drive. She sure as HECK didn’t know how to drive a VAN.

That didn’t matter to them. They decided, I would. They decided, I could. They dragged me to the van (in protest) and off we went. We go straight down the road, there is ONE turn in the sandy dirt gravel, then up a hill to JB’s. They get out and point the van back the way we came, on the road to home. All I have to do is go down the hill, take the curve , then head straight to home. Easy. They give me the keys and I climb into the monster. SWEATING. For one, I got four pairs of eyes watching their little sister – to see if she can hold her own – and just BUCK up and drive the beast.

In a mighty bout of bravery, I go. I push the gas. It jolts and rocks, then down the hill the van and I go, bouncing. I have a death grip on the wheel. I’m riding high, thinking I’m all cool, when suddenly it occurs to me…..What if another car comes down the road? What if I (GULP) have to PASS someone? That did it. Two seconds later a car appears around the corner. There are NEVER cars on this country road. EVER. Only today, with ME driving. I panic and swerve into the ditch. FAIL.

Of course, here come my brothers, who were watching me the whole time – running down the hill to me in the van that is STUCK. Stucker than stuck, in a rocky sandy ditch.

“What happened? Why did you go off the road?”, hands were waving in the air, as they scour for damage. Here I sit in the jolapy van, tears in my eyes, upset with myself. I had a chance to be the hero and I blew it. I cried out, “A car was coming!”.

They burst out laughing. Boy, THAT, made me burning mad. Out of the van I flew and down the road I marched. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need this crap. I’m gonna TELL.

I’m still walking my mad off, not even close to back home, when they pass me in the van. Waving, hooting and cackling in sheer joy, leaving ME in a cloud of van dust. Jerks! I watched through the haze as they kept going. I walked the rest of way home. I’m pretty sure I was never talking to them again.

So, that was my FIRST experience. I had a quite a few more, with said van, which I drove to school one day. That wasn’t the brightest idea since my mom was a teacher and another teacher told her. I, also, took my step dad’s Buick joy riding – I was thirteen by then. Still, I didn’t know how to drive. I used both feet. One on the gas. One on the brake. I even hit a mailbox which made a small dent. How in the world did my parents not know?

When I finally had my drivers ed, I had driven who knows how many times. I skipped all the classroom classes for three weeks. It was summer. I had swimming to do. We had our own in ground pool, I was teenage girl, any questions? I think I made one classroom class but talked the whole time. This explains why I don’t know anything about road rules. I did get instructor training in the car. He suspected I had driven before when I put my arm on the back seat, looking out as I backed up. Ooops.

Maybe little Sydney will teach me something. Maybe it’s not in the genes (please God). All I know is my little grown child is going to be driving – probably better than her Mom.

What would you do?

What would you do if someone you loved developed an autoimmune disease? A disease that attacks the insulin producing beta cells that live in the pancreas.

What would you do if they could die from this disease if not treated by insulin injections? Insulin injections that must be administered by needle six to seven times at day – minimum – to keep their blood glucose levels at a normal healthy range, their entire lifetime.

What would possibly be the root of this assailant on someone you love? This aggressor would be Type 1 diabetes. A debilitating disease. A disease of mystery and power.

This disease knows no bounds. It could attack you. It could attack me. Research has not proven why, or how. They know an autoimmune response is triggered. Maybe from an infection, maybe from an inherited gene, maybe even from not being breast-fed as a child. In addition, not everyone that has an autoimmune trigger develops diabetes. Some do. Some don’t.

The first person I ever knew with diabetes was my paternal grandfather. He died in 1975, I don’t remember him. I missed a chance to know him – he died too young. I never really knew anything about diabetes, despite my grandfather having had it. I was just a little kid. It didn’t affect me. I had no reason to find out why I didn’t grow up with my grandfather.

What did get my attention was another man who had Type 1 diabetes. His name was Uncle Bub. I would come to live with him and his sister during a separation from my second husband. It was a turbulent time of my life. Uncle Bub was my saving grace. He was my friend. Someone I would talk hours to. His health had deteriorated quickly with Type 1 diabetes.

In the previous years, He hadn’t taken care of himself and let his blood sugar levels get too high. He didn’t inject the life saving insulin. His body began failing. He had a stroke. He lost all feeling in his fingers. He developed heart disease. He lost his right leg, from above the knee down. He lost all his toes, except the big one on his left foot. He was near blind.

This six foot two inch tall man of such stature and pride, a leading manager for over twenty years with an oil company, was reduced to near helplessness in a wheelchair. His life stricken and battered by this autoimmune disease. He could no longer live by himself, nor take care of himself. This independent man had to rely on others. It was harsh and painful. The disease, left uncontrolled, wrought havoc on his fifty year old body.

When I came to live with him, I helped him as many ways as I could. His strength weakened, lay coiled inside. He was a fighter. Most men would have given up, faced with the nightmare, but he fought and he lived. I would load Uncle Bub’s insulin shots every morning for him. He could administer the shot himself, just not prepare it. His fingers, without nerves, could not navigate such a delicate task, nor he could his damaged eyes see the fill lines.

I would take him as many places as he wanted to go. Often to the computer electronics store, or Walmart, or to out to eat. I would throw his wheelchair in the car and off we’d go. Nothing could stop us. He never let his disability keep him down. In fact, he got the biggest kick out stuff – like when I searched, and searched for his matching sock. Um, yeah, he only needed ONE sock. Boy, did that give him belly laughs for the longest time.

We even got to take our girls to Orlando together (his granddaughter, my daughter). Airplane, car rental, two hotel rooms and two little girls ages ten and eight trek across the country. I wheeled him all over Universal Studios. He wore a cowboy hat everywhere. No matter who we met, they called him Big Tex. To make the trip truly memorable, a hurricane hit Florida. We rode it out in the hotel. Hurricane Charlie. He smiled and entertained the hotel guests all day during the storm. It took their mind off it. His smile lit the whole dreary room.

He was the first man I knew and loved with Type 1 diabetes. My heart ached over his disease. He died a year and half after our trip. Heart disease and complications of Type 1 diabetes. What a shame. What a loss. He had so much life in him. He was such a dear confidant to me. He wasn’t even MY uncle. He was first husband’s uncle. His love for me shows , what an incredible man he really was.

The second man to enter my life with Type 1 diabetes? My boyfriend Jason. He developed the autoimmune disease while serving in the Marines, diagnosed February 1997. He was 22 years old, in the pinnacle of his youth. What a shocking blow. But what could he do? This was his fate. There is no cure. He dealt with it, like the soldier he was. Twelve years now, he has tested his blood sugar, by puncturing his finger, taking a drop of blood, and feeding it into a meter.

If it’s high, he takes insulin to bring it down. He has to pierce his skin with another needle, using pressure, to inject a shot. It’s as painful as it sounds. If it’s low, he has to take in sugar to bring it up. If he goes too low, he could go into a coma. If he goes too high, he has to take another insulin shot. It is a dangerous game. It is a guessing game. Most days, there is no winner – just the constant ups and downs.

The highs and lows don’t come without a price. The highs, are edgy causing light headiness, thirst and nausea. The lows, are blackened vision, spots – an inability to stay alert. Imagine those things happening to you. Imagine how that would affect your moods and your nature – while working, while parenting, while sleeping, while exercising. It’s no cake walk. Welcome to their life.

In my quest to understand, I decided to check my blood sugar. I pricked my finger. I fed the meter. Mine was normal, of course. I did it ONCE. He does it, six to nine times a DAY.

One time during lunch, my blood sugar dropped. I was sick, anxious, and nervous. My leg twitched constantly. I wanted to rotate my head several times around, thinking that MIGHT make me feel better. After I ate, it took thirty minutes to kick in and stop the madness inside my skull. ONE TIME. Jason does this on a daily basis.

My hearts grieves over this disease. Not because one, but TWO men I love dearly have their lives directly affected by it. One’s life was cut short. One’s life could very well be cut short, if they don’t find a cure soon. I can try to put myself in their shoes, but I will NEVER truly know the pain of living with Type 1 Diabetes. I only know the pain of watching a loved one, bear the burden of Type 1 Diabetes. I pray for a cure. I long for a cure. I have hope for a cure.

October 24, 2009 – I will walk for a cure. I will walk next to the man I love with his beautiful children. I will walk in honor of Uncle Bub’s spunk, that encouraged me during a very low stretch in my life. I will fight for Jason. I will fight for the millions affected. I will fight to see him healed and free. I have to believe…we’ll win this fight.

What would I do? I would do anything.

If you’d like to join me in this cause -please do!- I would consider it a privilege. Even as little as $5.00 could bring them closer to solving this mystery. From what I understand, they are very close.

If financially this is impossible for you, then all I ask is that you say a prayer for those enduring Type 1 Diabetes. Pray for their strength, pray for their journey, and pray for their families – who love them and ache to see their strain. Lift them up.

Pray. Hope. Believe.

Diabetes – Walk for a Cure- Click here to visit my page.
http://walk.jdrf.org/walker.cfm?id=87424375
Click here to make a donation.
http://walk.jdrf.org/support.cfm?id=87424375

Sunday Healthy Reflection

We should consider every day lost in which we have not danced at least once.

- Nietzsche, philosopher

Finding and celebrating the joy in life

Each day is a new chance to find joy and to dance. If you let it pass or think it useless, the chance is gone and you’ll never get it back. When was the last time you played? Or just did something for the sheer fun of it? Joy is not found in the world around you, it’s within yourself. You can make your own joy, especially during those dark times when you need to really feel alive again. Fun and play are healthy antidotes to taking life–and ourselves–too seriously. They’re proven boosters of immune systems and mental health and make life worth the trouble. So do the twist. Sing in the shower. Learn a magic trick. Watch a cartoon. Challenge some kids to a game. Don’t let a single day go to waste.

Sparkpeople-Healthy Reflection-SPARKPEOPLE

Last Monday was the first one that Jason and I did not have dance class together. The week before we had arrived at class ten minutes early. The class before us, country dance, was learning a line dance to Cupid Shuffle. The instructor insists we learn this one too. We jumped right in. It was great! We really enjoyed it. The best part was seeing Jason let loose and get into it, in front of a classroom full of people. I had to add the song to my itunes afterwards, that’s how fun it was.

The next Monday, the Monday after, I go to Jason’s after work to see the girls. He has them until seven pm. I see them for maybe half an hour. We are playing and having a good old time. I decide to bust out my song. Holding iPhone in hand, playing the Cupid Shuffle, I do the dance we learned right in Jason’s living room. Six pairs of eyes watching me. I danced.

Well, Jason jumped in. The girls started clapping with glee, their eyes bright with excitement. The oldest almost picked up the steps (a few more times she’ll have it). There was much hooting, hollering, and laughter – oh, the joyous sound of laughter. We had a blast. We danced. We could have focused on the fact it was Monday. That he only saw the girls til seven. That we had a stressful day. We could have, but we didn’t.

That is not how I believe. In the worst of times, I will FIND a speck of light and I will celebrate it for all it’s worth. If you sit and stew in the bad situation you are in because it’s not what you want, or where you want to be. You are going to be miserable. Life will be miserable and you are going to miss those opportunities to dance. Those opportunities to be grateful for what you do have.

We all make our own happiness. We all have the same chances. There is joy in the simple things, if you just stop to see it, celebrate it, and love it. Don’t ever stop dancing. Don’t miss it. Don’t lose the joy in life.

Babe, This is better than a ring

This is a Costco membership card. MY membership card. Some of you know what this is, or maybe you are more familiar with Sam’s. They are actually similar, both are member only clubs to shop for bulk items at a great discount. Good deals. You can buy Sweet n Lo, in bulk,  it will last a YEAR. I’m not kidding.

I, usually, will buy toilet paper, paper towels, and trash bags. Being a single mother, it makes sense to try and save where I can. Jason has a membership, and I would go with him. We would figure out how to pay the other back for things bought or what not. His membership, he has to pay, or I pay. Only one can pay – one card.

Going to Costco on a saturday is like an adventure – you never know what samples they might be serving. You never know what wonderful books, toys, equipment, seasonal and otherwise, that they might be carrying. I LOVE Costco. It’s so fun and I hate shopping, so this tells you a lot.

Earlier this year, on a Costco trip, Jason mentions that his X is still on his Costco membership. REALLY? WHY? He says it’s free for him and he just never bothered to take her off. REALLY?

Quite honestly, it upset me. If it were HER membership, I guarantee you – he would have been taken off immediately. She divorced HIM. Why is he still being nice to her?

He tells me, he is a nice guy. I agree, BUT come on…..after everything? If she likes Costco so much, let her buy her own membership. It can’t be that much. It still ties them together. It still seemed like he was honoring his wifely commitment (and you remember that whole drama) which I thought ended at his divorce in December, or so I thought. It bothered me – GREATLY.

He didn’t understand, and I get that. I do. It’s harmless right? She is buying stuff for the kids – his kids – that he pays child support for. A LOT of child support, like what I lived on as single parent working full time AND with my child support added in, child support. But I digress….

What I am saying is – I felt like he chose her over me. That no matter what, I would always be second. She was the mother of his children. She came first.

Now, I do tend to overanlayze and read more into something than I should. I KNOW. You are all shaking your head. This is how it felt at that time. I stewed a half hour, came to terms with it, realized all the nice things I did for my ex husband Sonny – and still would do. I would have felt better if she was as nice as Sonny but still – I was fine with it. Stop it, I WAS.

On my merry way I went, without another thought (usually). Oh, I’d feel a twinge when we’d visit Costco. My mind would want to holler to me – I was SECOND. I didn’t listen. I knew, I was first. Get behind thee, Satan.

One of our last visits, we had the kids. We are having a jolly old time. Goofing off, trying samples, and playing with everything. I do mean everything.
At check out, I took the girls along with Sydney and Kyle to get drinks at the little concession. We were sipping our smoothies, when I see Jason waving at me. I leave Sydney with the kids and go to him. He is standing there at the back computer behind the check out, smiling.

Give her your info, I am adding you to my membership. My JAW dropped. Huh? Really? He was taking X off and adding me. I barely recovered enough to give her my name, then as if in a daze, we head over to get my picture taken for my new card. My new card.

I don’t understand why months, and months later he had this change of heart. I will say it made me feel very, very special. Such a simple thing, but it was an act of love for me. It filled my heart.

I said to Jason, “Babe, this is better than a ring!”.

He says to me, “We’ll see about that”.

Do I Have Fleas or What?

Thank goodness, my fingernails are  chewed short, otherwise I’d look like I got into a fight with a couple of cats and LOST. I’ve got a tube of Cortaid in one hand. The other hand is scratching away, like an old mangy dog.

Seriously, I have NO idea what is wrong with me. I thought it might be the new bottle of soap I got at Costco. It’s Neutrogena brand,  possibly I’m allergic to an ingredient used in it’s making, or maybe even my detergent. I checked and I didn’t buy the clear brand. It was a  lavender fragrance.

However, my HEAD is also itching. I KNOW I didn’t put detergent, nor body wash on my head.  Surely, I’m not turning into the bubble kid. I’ve been working out. Am I, all the sudden, allergic to my sweat?

Tuesday night, I was itching so incredibly bad, I am sure other students in Italian class were happy to be sitting away from me.  I was using my black ball point pen. I’d unclick the ink and and scrape with the metal tubing. Arms,  legs, then back. One time I forgot to unclick the pen and had black marks all up and down my arm.  How embarrassing!

Sometimes, there are tiny bumps, like really small ant bites,  but mostly nothing at all.  Just bright red squares of skin, irritated by fingers clawing it. I even woke up digging at my back in my sleep.

I thought, at first, it might be dry skin. I bought some Aveeno intense body cream. You know what? It hasn’t helped either. Twelve bucks down the drain.

My last resort is Benadryl, and I do mean last. Benadryl turns me into a monster. Seriously,  like my mother when we were little and she’d wake up from her nap. Angry, crazy-eyed, and on the war path. (shudder)

I wish I could say the itching was isolated to a certain place, but it’s not. Just today, here is how it went. Woke up with my lower back itching. Then, my arms were itching. Since I’ve been at my desk, my arm, left hand, left ear, right inner elbow, left side neck, and right side head have been on fire. It stings they itch so bad.

Do you feel like you have bugs crawling on you? Poison ivy? Ants in your pants? I do. I need some major itchy owie or a day in an oatmeal bath.

So, don’t mind me, apparently I’m allergic to AIR. At least typing keeps my fingers busy.

If you have secret remedies, please share. I am about five seconds away from checking myself into the funny farm.

From Fit to Flab

Well, since I was bullied by BOOSHY to BE in the BUFF challenge. Ha, just kidding! I voluntarily offered myself as a sacrifice to participate, FOR MY OWN GOOD. Yes indeed.

Please, see my BUFF-TOBER page, and join the challenge. This time of year (the last three weeks) in October is soooo hard. No you DON’T need to buy trick or treat candy a few weeks early. Take my word for it, the store will NOT run out!

Some of my friends know my story about my previous buffiness, for those that don’t, here is the walk of shame recap.

January 1st, 2006 at noon (yes, I remember the exact time), I smoked my last cigarette. A habit formed at age sixteen in France, and from watching my mother smoke my whole life, was finally (heh) snuffed out.

Now, I had been told to form a NEW habit in place of the old. Preferably a good one and not like a crack pipe or something. So, I began exercising and drinking water.

Craving a cig? Down a glass of water and exercise. It worked. I was hooked. I joined E-diets, began a challenge team, and started posting on the message boards for support.

Eventually (okay, six months), I lost 47lbs. I became captain of a diet/fitness team, started training for a half marathon, began moderating my own message board, and was a success story – featured on the front page.

Life was FAB. I had it all down. Then, I divorced and everything went downhill. Not all at once, but gradually, and I pretty much gained it all back, three years later.

I am not in as bad of shape as when I began in 2006, no way no how. I couldn’t have ran a mile by just walking out my front door (like I do now) with no training. However, I am far from my best fitness level. My stride is to regain my endurance, and began anew, a quest to lose what I gained. And gain what I lost, which was my drive and purpose.

If you need some support, join some fellow bloggers, and give it a go. HALF of October is already over, SEE, I made it easy for you.

Don’t delay! Walk, swim, bike, kickbox, and run to this challenge. I triple dog DARE you! Plus, I need all the support I can get. For me? Please?